


==>RUMINATE

by Ultimatum



Series: "The House of Leaves" Quote Series [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Victim Blaming, its in the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:51:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultimatum/pseuds/Ultimatum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I still get nightmares. In fact, I get them so often I should be used to them by now. I'm not. No one ever really gets used to nightmares.” -House of Leaves<br/>It's one in the morning. The night is still and John's breath fans across your face slightly. The only sound you can hear is the beating of your own heart, and you want die.<br/>But you don't wake John up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	==>RUMINATE

**Author's Note:**

> i am back again. yes hello

It's one in the morning. The night is still and John's breath fans across your face slightly. The only sound you can hear is the beating of your own heart, and you want to die.  
But you don't wake John up. You do not wake him because you're sure there is no reason to, everyone gets nightmares once in a while, and even though yours just happen to be every single night, you refuse to bother John _or_ the girls with your problems. Usually, you just imagine what Bro would do to you if he saw you being this weak and that snaps you right back into place.

It has been two days since your arrival in Washington, and the days here are cold, solemn, but they are far better than any of the days you've spent in Texas. Here, the chill bites down to your bones and the white-noise of silence at night feels like loneliness in the pit of your stomach, but it's more of a blessing and less of a curse because at least here in Washington, you can feel lonely with your friends near you. Here in Washington, you can at least pretend that everything is going to be alright. 

And John says that it will be, forever, because he's talked with his Dad, he's talked with his Dad and he isn't going to let you go back to Texas.

You aren't sure whether or not Bro will come and take you forcefully, and the aspect of not knowing once again leaves you shuddering in the early hours of morning, like the outside frost is getting to you even though John's house is always warm. Always warm and always has heating and is just so _nice_. Bro hadn't cared when you told him you were going to leave for a week or so; he'd just sent you on your way, even with your face battered and your body sore. He doesn't care. He never seems to care.  
But if he didn't care, why would he beat you so much? Why would he hit you, kick you, slice open your skin, and humiliate you again and again and again? You don't know the answer, and since you equate not knowing with fear and uncertainty, with his mind games, you're very much afraid of your trepidation. 

So it's one in the morning. John's breath is tickling your nose. Rose has got her feet right by your face, and Jade is squished against your back and against the wall. With everyone so close to you, you can almost pretend that human contact doesn't bother you as much as it does. The small semblance of normality is almost enough to wipe away the anxiety like spilled milk on hardwood. But even then, you know the milk, even if it's wiped away, leaves a sticky residue behind. And these are your nightmares. Your two a.m. ruminations. Three a.m. ruminations. Four a.m. Until you're barely sleeping at all, and your mind is like a carousel traveling in circles at 200 mph. 

And to be perfectly honest, the transition from being beaten for the littlest thing to not being hit at all sets you on edge. A part of you wants them to get mad. To punch you and make you bleed. And in these times, you feel guilty, and you imagine that you must've been asking for it when Bro did it to you all those times if you're suddenly begging for it now. The questions pile up, the carousel keeps turning, the numbers and hours keep flying by and you keep counting. John and Jade and Rose try and keep you busy, and you assume it's because they can see right through you, can see the way your eyes zone out if you're silent for too long, and when you're silent for too long they must notice the way the corner of your lips turn down drastically and pinch, even though you will them not to. They're trying so hard to keep you happy, and that just makes you feel guiltier, so it's not really a surprise to you when you have a meltdown. You're waiting for the other shoe to drop, for John's dad to beat the shit out of you or something. There has to be a catch. There has to be. No one can be this nice and not want something in return, and it's driving you crazy.

So it's one in the morning. John's breath is fanning across your face. Your heart feels heavy, your lungs ache. The vastness of the universe and all of the time allowed in existence collapses in on itself and you're still the scared little boy you were from years ago. You always have been. You bid the tears away, beg them to stop; your friends know but they don't _know_ and you'd like to keep it that way. The nightmares. The crying. It's all TMI, and you honestly don't want to bother them with this. 

One tear slips down your face. A quiet keen escapes your lips and your lungs gulp in air. Your chest constricts and you hiccup-- you hadn't even been aware that you were holding your breath all that time. But you had, and you gasp to make up for the lost oxygen. You absolutely loathe how you cry, with the deep shudders of your chest and the stuttered way in which you breathe. In, in, in, out. Shuttered out. In again.

You're just so _afraid_. So utterly terrified that this is an illusion and even more terrified that it's not. You don't know how you feel, you're caught up in the extremities of both ends. You're tossed up in between feeling like this is an elaborate joke and scrabbling for any hope you can get. You're--

You're still crying.

Using your hand, you try to muffle the sound by stuffing your knuckles into your mouth. Will Bro come to Washington if you don't go back first? Will he kill you if he finds out that you told? Oh god.

He's going to kill you. 

Bro is going to kill you you're going to die, you're going to die--

dave...? are you ok? John whispers into your ear and you jolt, shuddering and shaking and crying and. Fuck. No, you're not okay. You aren't.

But your words betray you. A soft, forlorn yes escapes you, sounding more like a plea than anything. And then, another sob escapes you and you try to curl up away from John, only successfully managing to get closer to Rose.

here. um, dave. let's go outside okay? we can talk. just you and me.

He rubs your shoulder, carefully sliding out bed, as to not wake the girls. He already knows your answer, so you nod, sliding out after him. You feel worthless and sad and scared and you hate that you're crying in front of John again, above all else.

John leads you downstairs and out to his backyard, where he has a wooden swing-set from when he was a kid nested in some outdoor gravel. You both walk in silence to the swings; you're shivering, both from your crying and from the chill outside, but John doesn't seem to be affected by it like you are.

You sit down next to each other and both of you idly swing. Back. Forth. Back. You're waiting for John to speak first, not trusting yourself to not say something totally fucking stupid.

you okay...? he asks again, casting a sideways glance at you. You're busy staring at the gravel and at your bare feet.

This time, through the gasps, you allow yourself a moment of truth. no You grip the hem of your shirt and wring it, feeling very much like a child. no, im really not

John doesn't say much for a while, just sits by you and stares. You take that as a cue to continue talking. i mean im just  
john its not going to be okay  
i know you say that but will it,  
will it ever be okay???? hes going to come here and kill me and im so scared and i cant sleep at night because i dont _deserve_ to be treated this well  and your dad is just so fucking nice and im  
im just so terrified that this is a dream  
or even worse, that you guys are just fucking with me- and-  
i dont know why.  
i dont know why bro had to fuck me up this badly  
i must have done something to deserve this. i must have  
no one can fuck someone up this much and not have a reason for it  
ive been so miserable for so long and--  
fuck im sorry you dont have to listen to me ramble like this im sorry  
just  
basically im sorry you have to deal with me  
and with this

The exhaustion you're feeling makes it easier for you to speak, but you leave out a lot of what's bothering you, you leave out the nagging guilt and the crippling sadness and just. Sit there. Awaiting his response and feeling very much like the scum you know you are. 

John sits there, quietly, his eyes still trained on the sky. You think you hear him hiccup after a few moments of silence, and before you can catch his movement, he's jolting off the swing and coming around to pull you into a vehement hug.

 _dave_ is all he says at first. It sounds like a gasp, a whimper. Like his voice is lost upon him and all John can manage from his lips is your name in semblance to a soft prayer. You shudder in his grasp a bit, and you feel weak. But with John, it's okay. With John it's okay to not be strong.  please do not believe those things about yourself. you are so much more than what your bro has done to you. you are so much more, and none of this is your fault.

You want to tell him that he's wrong. He's wrong and it must have been your fault, otherwise this all makes no sense. You don't want to be a victim you don't want to come to terms with what he's implying (that you did nothing wrong. that bro was the villain in this story and you're not sure if you're ready to believe that yet) but when you feel tears hit your neck from where his face is jammed up against your shoulder, you want to _believe_ that it wasn't your fault. You want to believe in yourself.

sometimes people are just bad because they are. He continues, his voice wobbling a bit. You have never seen John Egbert this broken and this open, never seen his passion for his friends this vividly, but when his arms tighten around you and he says these things to you, you kind of feel like the universe is collapsing on itself and being rebuilt into something beautiful. Something worth living in. It feels euphoric to be cared about, and although your mind still nags at you for acting so vulnerable in front of your best friend, you think it's okay, just this once. but it will never, ever be your fault.

you deserve to be treated like a human, dave. and you deserve to be loved.

You hiccup again, and fuck, your own tears are starting back up again. 

we love you. jade rose and i. and my dad, he loves you too. we will keep you safe, and we will not allow your brother to come here and take you. i promise

But doesn't he know? Doesn't John know that he's no match for Bro? You want to scream to him that there's no way they'd be able to protect you if he came up to Seattle to drag you back by force, or worse, kill you. He always said that if you told, he'd kill you. And you told. You sang like a canary and you're so terrified that he'll come and squish you like the tiny weakling that you are and rip your wings from your back. Rip them as penance for telling and stick his sword through the neat crevice between your ribs, and you've dreamt of dying enough times to know how that would feel, getting stabbed through the heart. Having the life drain from your veins slowly but deliberately. 

john

shhh... dave, it's ok. i promise it will all be fine. we just want you to be happy and safe, we all do. you don't need to be sorry, or feel bad about it. i swear that we are here for you, no matter what.

His tears dry against your skin as he continues to hug you in silence, yours are beginning to dry too and you think that maybe you can get through this. Maybe. With John and the girls supporting you, you feel like you could fly straight to the stars, and the love you feel for them almost hurts. The anxiety won't go away, and you'll probably need outside help (and you know the Bro situation isn't over. He'll be here soon-- but you try to push that thought away. Far away where it can't touch you, it's easier to pretend that it'll never happen that way, even when you know it will) but you think you can get better. Stop the self-harm and the late-night ruminations. Begin to hope again. 

You reach up and hug John back.

_thank you_

how about we go inside and watch some cartoons for a few hours until the girls wake up?

You nod, stand on your wobbly legs, and follow him inside to his warm home, where the chill of morning is almost a distant memory. For the next two hours, you watch Tom and Jerry and the Power Puff Girls, and Bro is the last thing on your mind. It's just you and John and the resonance coming from his living-room television. You wish to live in this moment forever.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed it. tell me what you thought & see you next time when I update again in this series: The house of leaves quotes/ dave is always sad and i love him


End file.
